Share

Share

Share

Share

Glossophobia – the fear of public speaking. Shirou Tsubasa, aglossophobic Japanese scientist, and Zola Simpson, a determinedplus-size African-American public affairs specialist, find themselvesimmersed in a battle of wills. NASA needs their golden boy to performlike a trick pony at an important convention in Atlanta to assure futurefunding, but the thought of getting up in front of hundreds causesShirou such intense anxiety he flat-out refuses. Frustrated and at theirwits’ end, the bosses decide Zola’s magic touch is the only thing thatcan snap their residential genius into shape for the big event. Zola isresentful that she has to give up a planned weekend of sexual abandonwith her ex after a long dry spell. However, she’s never met a geek shecouldn’t crack, and Shirou Tsubasa will speak at that convention—even ifshe has to seduce the egghead into it.

Zola's Magic Touch

CHAPTER ONE

“Zola, you are the only one who can help me out of this dilemma.”

The tall, thin man with salt-and-pepper hair and unassuming features

strolled into her office after only a brief knock.

Immediately she knew he had rehearsed everything he wanted to

say before he stepped inside, and he was about to ask her to do something

she didn’t want to do.

“How may I help you, Mr. Tate?” Zola Simpson asked, barely

glancing away from the computer screen as she typed up the next round of

speeches to be placed on the teleprompters for the public speakers who went

to selected conventions to be the voice for NASA.

Her highly capable fingers rippled tap...tap...tap...across the keys

with impressive lightning speed, not letting the temporary distraction

distract her.

“Err...Zola, listen here...I’ve been thinking about your request for

that long weekend off so you can visit your family in Atlanta—” he began. “I

have delegated your workload to Howard so you can fly out tonight.

Everything has been arranged—”

“That was three months ago, sir.” Zola’s eyebrow cocked. She

couldn’t believe the nerve. It had been her parents’ anniversary and she had

hoped to surprise them. Instead she ended up sending them a card and a

check because Mr. Tate couldn’t possibly do without her assistance at this

critical time when the economy was so bad.

“Yes.” The older man cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sure they would

be happy to see you. I know you’re probably ready for your mother’s home

cooking about now, huh?”

Her fingers paused over the keys as she bit back the smart-ass retort

that came to mind. Of course a “home-cooked meal” would be the only

reason a black woman who wore a size eighteen would want to drive from

Virginia to Georgia for a weekend.

Sigh. Why do people think big people think about food all the time?

Usually, the only time she thought about food all the time was when she was

dieting. So, she gave up dieting and became happy with her dangerous

curves.

Right now Tate was trying to look down the modest “V” of her

conservative, white silk blouse at the swell of her brown breasts. She also

knew if she were to get up and walk across the room to get a file, he would

stare at her ass.

“Yes, sir, there is nothing like a mother’s cooking,” Zola agreed as

expected. The only sign that his assumption irritated her was the

uncontrolled fluttering of her left eyelid. “However, I have enough work to

do to keep me busy until Christmas. Thank you, but that’s okay.”

When her boss released a loud sigh and stuffed his hands in his

pocket, Zola braced herself for what was to come next. Anytime Tate looked

like a puckish white man waiting to see if the black woman was amused or

pissed by his colorful racial joke, it meant he was about to ask her to do

something that wasn’t in her job description.

“Zola, we’ve got a major problem in Atlanta that only your magic

touch can handle. Of course you know under different circumstances I

would go myself, but I have no diplomacy when it comes to this young

gentleman. But I’m not a fool. This young man is a valued employee. We

can’t afford to piss him off. It took NASA four years to woo him from his

previous employer.”

“What makes this person so important?” Zola frowned in question.

“Does he work here in this building?”

“No, he’s not under our facility. He heads up the Energy Resource

Department in Coco Beach, Florida. However, it is our division that is

hosting this major fundraising event in Atlanta, and most of the people and

investors who paid a thousand dollars a plate came to hear Tsubasa speak

about renewable energy sources, agro-climatology, and see his latest solar

energy building designs.”

“Dr. Shirou Tsubasa,” she groaned. “I can’t believe he is doing this

again.”

Zola hadn’t met the man in person, but she had had her own run-in

with him over the telephone about his contracted required public speaking

appearances. He was heavily sought after, but getting him to do them was

impossible. Each time he was scheduled, he would back out at the last

minute, leaving her to scramble for his replacement and having to rewrite

the speeches.

“So you already know him,” the older man blurted. “That should

make things easier on you.”

“No, I don’t really know him,” Zola corrected. “I have spoken to his

assistant when she calls to inform me that he has more important things to

do than give speeches.” She mimicked the nasally Asian-accented tone of

Mr. Tsubasa’s assistant.

“Sounds just like her.” Mr. Tate chuckled.

“Sorry,” Zola apologized sheepishly. “I take it you want me to find a

replacement in Atlanta and e-mail an appropriate, well-researched speech

ready to go for the dinner banquet tomorrow night?”

“Actually, I’m going to ask more of you, Zola,” Tate confessed. He

tugged at his tie and cleared his throat. “This is not a normal banquet

dinner. We need Tsubasa there convincing those investors to allow us to

keep our current funding, and that is where you come in.”

“Okay.” Zola giggled nervously. “I don’t get it.”

“The only way we can keep our current government funding for the

new year is the ‘young genius.’ Tsubasa needs to explain to the attending

governing bodies where all those millions he’s utilizing are going.”

“How will reduced funding in Florida affect us in Virginia?” Zola

questioned.

“As long as Tsubasa continues his research, we will maintain a full

staff to garner the research information he needs to do his job. I promised

them in Coco Beach that you work magic with difficult NASA

Representatives.”

“I appreciate your confidence in me, Mr. Tate, but I have no idea

how I’m supposed to get this man out on that stage tomorrow night to give a

speech I have yet to write, on a subject I have yet to research,” Zola

complained.

“Zola, I know you can get it together. I already gave you a head start

by informing Tsubasa that you will arrive tonight and work on the speech

eyes to shove the graphic novel that had been crushed between his fingers

into the brown shoulder satchel resting on one of the terminal chairs.

She normally would have walked away, but for some reason she

couldn’t. His pained expression gripped at her heart. She didn’t know what

had him in such turmoil, but she had been there herself a time or two, and

the loneliness she felt during those times was what she remembered most.

He shouldn’t be alone, whatever he was going through.

When he turned back to her and slid the shoulder strap of the

satchel onto the opposite shoulder, she caught his eyes with hers. “It’s all

right. Really,” Zola empathized. She reached out to touch his shoulder in

some capacity of comfort but ended up taking his warm, dry hand in hers.

From this simple touch, she deduced the man wasn’t a manual

laborer. He didn’t have a single callous on his hands.

“I feel embarrassed,” he confessed. The way that line formed

between his eyes, indexing his emotions, made her squeeze his fingers

reassuringly.

“When I was going through stuff of my own,” Zola began, “I had

this huge support team of my family and friends that I could speak to, but I

just couldn’t talk to them. I guess I didn’t want them to worry about me, or

maybe I just didn’t know if I could be completely honest with them about

how worried I was at that time. I went out to a bar and met a woman who

did something for me no one else could. She listened, and you know what?

It was what I needed; no more...no less.”

He was silent, but his face reacted to all she was saying, and it gave

her the assurance to continue.

“I found out I didn’t need advice or help to fix my problem. I just

needed to say it aloud so I could put my situation in perspective and start

getting beyond it. I was the better for it.” Zola gave him a smile she used

when she was being particularly gracious to a distraught business associate.

She saw his eyes drop to his hand resting in hers. The contrast of

their skin pigmentation was greatly discernible but oddly harmonizing, like

two coordinated pieces of an outfit; her skin a tobacco brown and his a

creamy French vanilla.

He kept his gaze unblinking. “You would to that for me? A man you

don’t know.”

With a half smile on her lips, she said, “If you need someone to talk

to during the flight...” Zola drifted into silence and lowered her hand. She

didn’t know what else to say or why she was opening herself to this man.

“Thank you.” He nodded.

Zola was so mesmerized by his intense gaze into her eyes. He gave a

great stare. She cleared her throat, and the color deepened in her cheeks.

Smoothing her sweating palms against the length of her skirt, she turned

away to board the awaiting airplane, not waiting to see if he followed.

****

Removing his glasses for a moment, he wiped at his tired, burning

eyes. He needed to get new spectacles again, and it had not been long since

he’d purchased the pair he was wearing now. He leaned back against the

headrest of his chair. His head lolled as the feelings of self-pity

overwhelmed him. Why me? Why me? he cried to himself.

“Here you are. Up here in first class.”

Her sexy, husky voice whispered close to his ear. His eyes snapped

open, startled by the woman’s sudden appearance just when he needed to be

rescued from the depression of his own thoughts. She was a blur, but he

knew that voice; it was the woman from the airport.

Clumsily, he perched his glasses on his nose and pushed them into

place with a finger, bringing her pretty, smiling face into focus.

He gazed directly up at her standing next to him, sunning himself in

the presence of her genuine smile.

“Mmm, here I was back there in the hell section, sausaged between

two other people worried about you, and here you are up here in the heavens

in this big luxurious chair, resting like the beautiful angel you are,” she said

in a pouting, teasing tone. “You rent out the entire joint for yourself?”

He laughed out loud at her euphemisms. “I got my usual two seats.

I imagine not many people are flying first class these days. Unless...”

“Unless what?”

“If you get tired of all the airline bullshit...”

“Then take a bus?” she finished for him.

“Hell, no. Who takes a bus anymore?” He shook his head. “You rent

your own plane and make your own rules.”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “That must be a jest wealthy

people tell over champagne and caviar.” Her brown eyes twinkled. “My

Greyhound Bus crowd wouldn’t get it.”

“Champagne and sushi,” he corrected and spoke in his most preppy

tone, “Caviar is so de passé.”

She laughed as he’d hoped his attempt at humor would make her do.

His breath caught in his throat. She had a sensual way of

uncovering her teeth when her wide mouth parted into a smile.

“Unlike you, mister, I never get to travel first class. It’s not in my

travel budget. At least not this year, and if a certain pompous scientist gets

his way, I may be jobless next year,” she muttered.

“What is this about a pompous scientist?” he asked with his

curiosity piqued. “Is it someone well known in the field? What is it you do,

exactly?”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “I’m not going to ruin the little time I

have left to myself feeling anxious over what I have to do when I get to

Atlanta. I hiked up here risking a beat down with the flight attendant to see

for myself if you were feeling better. So...how are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling better by the minute.” Her show of concern warmed

him. “They’ll be serving dinner in a little bit. I paid for an extra seat, so they

can’t complain. Would you care to join me?”

“Oh, because I’m a big woman you think you can seduce me by

feeding me, huh?”

“I...I...no...I—”

She laughed. “I was just playing with you. Sorry.” She shrugged

her shoulders. His eyes went to the “V” in her white button-down blouse,

displaying plump mounds of creamy brown flesh. He was beginning to see

some advantages to being with a voluptuous woman. Tits a man could bury

his face in and drown.

“Why do you do that?” he asked. She cocked a questioning

eyebrow. “Joke about yourself. I think your body is perfect.”

She looked surprised by his words. He was surprised also. He never

thought much about what he preferred physically in a woman. He never

really felt he had a choice in the matter. However, now that he saw he could

be comfortable around a woman outside his culture, his taste was

broadening.

“You must really like my body and face too. You’re staring,” she

commented with a playful wink.

“I won’t apologize for it,” he said stubbornly.

“I won’t ask you to. You see, I think my body is perfect too. It's

perfect for me and as long as I am happy with it, who else has the right to tell

me otherwise?”

He’d never thought about it that way, but it was true. “I’m just

discovering I find self-assurance in a woman sexy.” He leaned back to

regard her speculatively and stared up at her with unblinking eyes.

“I get the impression there’s still a lot more for you to discover about

women—especially African-American women,” she said. She added in a

more serious tone, “The medical profession goes on and on about how much

a healthy person should weigh, giving merit to others that it’s okay to be

rude and ugly to people different than themselves and make claims it was for

their own good. I personally think doctors know this is a great business

opportunity, and the more fear they put into people, the more patients they

get. More patients mean a bigger payday.” She shrugged her shoulder.

“It is a billion-dollar business.” He nodded. “We trust them. They

sell it and we buy it because there is an element of trust until they give you

reasons not to.”

She leaned down closer, giving him a great view of the breasts he’d

been admiring since he first saw her walk into the terminal and take a seat.

It was also why he chose to sit down across from her to read his book.

The physical attraction he felt the moment he saw her was

immediate and surprising. He had heard about such things happening to

others. Yet, with no adequate scientific deductions to assure him of the

theory, he still wasn’t willing to call what he felt “love at first sight.”

He personally concluded it had more to do with no physical contact

with a woman for months, being tired, and seeing this curvy woman dressed

in a black, slim-fitted skirt, a snow-white blouse that molded her breasts to

perfection, and a pair of pointed-toed black stilettos that set his pulse racing.

“Weight reduction is a billion-dollar franchise. Who is going to

admit they’re wrong when they’re raking in all that dough? That’s just bad

business,” he found her saying once he was able to focus on more than her

breasts going up and down each time she breathed.

Her nipples were hard, and he would have sworn if he stared hard

enough, he could make out the areola through her shirt. Then again, it

might just be wishful thinking on his part.

“A person should lose weight for her health, hah! I work out four

times a week. I don’t smoke or do drugs. I have a physical every year. I can

prove that I am healthier than some who have never been over a size six.”

“That’s commendable in these days and times,” he commented.

“I think so.” She nodded. “Except for my doctor making me feel like

an alien creature by deeming me one of the obese— it sounds like some

creature, doesn’t it? I am a healthy thirty-two-year-old woman. I—I’m

ranting,” she ended on a chuckle. She fingered her short hair behind her

ear. “Sorry.”

Feeling her apology was unnecessary, he remarked, “I never would

have thought you were five years older than I am. Not by looking at you.”

He regarded her from head to toe speculatively, liking more and more what

he saw.

“You are just too sweet.” She gave him a knowing smirk when he

lingered on her breasts longer than necessary. Embarrassed to get caught

staring, he cleared his throat and looked away. “You like my tits? They’re

real. Do you want to touch them?”

“Do you always say what you’re thinking?”

“Always, except when I sense honesty won’t be appreciated. I have

this gauge that tells me how much of my personality to reveal and how much

to hold back. You know, my specialty is reading people,” she answered

truthfully.

“Like a psychic.” He looked at her skeptically. This was an argument

he wasn’t going to get into. He absolutely did not believe in such things.

“No, like a person who has spent hours in a rigorous training

program to be able to detect signs that others don’t know they are

projecting,” she confessed.

Studying to take your mental capacity to a higher level was

something he believed in. “You’re saying you picked up fromme in the little

time we have spoken that I’m a man who appreciates directness?”

“Do you have time for anything else?” she asked, raking her eyes

over his face. “You try hard to appear relaxed, but you’re chomping at the

bit to find your next mental stimulation. You are a no- nonsense person,”

she stated. “You appreciate directness in others because you are direct to

the point of unintentional rudeness when you’re distracted by something

you decide is of less importance than whatever you’re focused on.”

“True.” His eyes narrowed on her face. “I’m sure my assistant would

vouch for that.”

“You think too much. It’s exhausting.” Her eyebrow cocked

knowingly at him. “You want me and instead of going for it, you’re

overthinking the situation.”

“Am I?” He fingered his chin thoughtfully.

“Aren’t you?” she spoke slowly. Then with a curling little smile, she

added, “Or am I projecting what I want onto you?”

“Maybe I’m hoping the want is mutual,” he admitted since she’d

opened the door for him. “I find you interesting,” he admitted with his own

boldness. She was right about him being blunt and direct, but it was only in

business. He would have never had the nerve to be so approachable to her if

she hadn’t made the first move. It would have remained his personal

unrequited lust.

“And I find myself interested,” she said. “So the next question is,

what do we do about it?”

“I think I can get used to this.” His grin spread wide.

“Used to what?”

“A woman who says exactly what she means.”

“It makes things less complicated.” She disarmed him again with

her beautiful smile and sudden change of topics. “What are we having for

dinner?”

She was staying. It took him a moment for his sex-numbed brain to

remember what the flight attendant had told him once the plane had taken

off. “Uh...prime rib or chicken?”

“How about we get one of each and we try a little of both, and for

dessert we sign up for the ‘mile-high’ club.”

It was on his list of experiences he would like to have. “I would like

that,” he replied. His headache had practically faded with the extra push of

testosterone circulating the blood to his hardening cock.

“Good.” The pink dart of her tongue grazed her bottom lip. “I’ll go

and get my things and freshen up for dinner.”

“You drink wine?”

“Damn, you get wine too? You are living large up in here.” Her eyes

grew round. “All I got was iced-down cola, and she wouldn’t even leave what

was left in the can. I was offered a snack of two packets of peanuts—regular

ones for dinner and honey-covered ones for dessert.”

He didn’t think he’d ever find a woman he would enjoy speaking

about such trivial things with until now. He also couldn’t remember the last

time he’d laughed this much.

“To celebrate our meeting, why don’t we pull out the big guns and

order glasses of champagne?” he asked with a twinkling in his eyes. “But

don’t get overly excited. It’s probably that cheap stuff hotels send

complimentary served in plastic champagne glasses.”

“Oh, my, you got hotels kissing your ass too?” She winked at him

and clucked her tongue. “I’ll be back.”

He moved, turned, and half stood to look at her bottom wiggling as

she walked and blushed a shade of red when the airline associate caught

him. He quickly gave her his order for dinner and settled back down in his

seat.

The muscles in his stomach tightened in anticipation at what was to

come. Damn, he didn’t have any condoms. Wait, he shouldn’t assume she

meant fucking in the bathroom. It could be a simple make-out session with

no penetrating of any orifices.

He couldn’t believe he was about to do this. He was nervous. What

If she found him lacking? Would that put an end to the comfortable banter

they were enjoying now?

If you're interested in being a Beta Reader for future books to give me honest feedback and leave your review for published works on Amazon once published please send me your name, email address and "Beta Reader" in the text. Thank you.